


Go, I Don't Wanna Stop

by MacksDramaticShenanigans



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Coitus Interruptus, M/M, Making Out, Mentioned Frank Gallagher, Mild Smut, S5E10 but minus sammi bc fuck sammi lives!, if you can even call it that, it's mostly just the lead up, they go on that sizzlers date! and this is the aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacksDramaticShenanigans/pseuds/MacksDramaticShenanigans
Summary: It’s late when they get back. It’s late, and the house is dark, which means everyone must be asleep. But his slumbering siblings are the last thing on Ian’s mind as he and Mickey stumble into the quiet house, connected at the mouth.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 30
Kudos: 232





	Go, I Don't Wanna Stop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EddieSasspbrak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EddieSasspbrak/gifts).



> This fic is brought to you by the prompt that was so graciously dropped into my ask box on tumblr. It comes from the [50 Types of Kisses - Writing Prompts post](https://richiefuckintozierbaby.tumblr.com/post/613623949700530176/50-types-of-kisses-writing-prompts) that I reblogged (so if y’all wanna see me try to write any more of those for gallavich, drop a number in my inbox!!). The specific prompt picked was #45, which is “kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.” The second I saw which prompt it was I opened a doc and started typing furiously, the words just wouldn’t stop flowing! It was a very nice change of pace from how it’s been trying to write the past month lol.
> 
> Thank you to the lovely [eddiesasspbrak ](https://eddiesasspbrak.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for sending in this prompt, I super super appreciate it and I really hope you like this! I got a little carried away with it, so you get 4k of gallavich bumping into things while they try to get it on haha.
> 
> Also, another thank you to the loml Caroline for looking this over, I appreciate you so very much <3
> 
> The title comes from [That’s My Man ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TnhDV0uO8gg) by Miss Benny. Love that song, love that guy. His music is great, y’all should check out the few tracks he has!
> 
> Without further ado, I hope everyone enjoys!

It’s late when they get back. It’s late, and the house is dark, which means everyone must be asleep. But his slumbering siblings are the last thing on Ian’s mind as he and Mickey stumble into the quiet house, connected at the mouth.

The door goes flying open, banging into the wall hard enough to make the preexisting doorknob sized crater even larger, and Ian pushes Mickey across the threshold, sticking his foot out behind him to kick the door closed. He walks Mickey backwards, sure enough in the knowledge that Mickey knows the layout of his house well enough that he doesn’t need to bother giving navigation his full attention— not that either of them would even if they did need to. Ian’s too lost in the warmth of Mickey’s mouth and the slide of his tongue against his own to worry about anything else.

Despite knowing their way around the house, there’s still no way for them to anticipate the whereabouts of the constantly moving  _ stuff _ in the house, and Mickey nearly trips backwards over a stray boot lying in the middle of the hall. 

Ian’s hands are already around Mickey’s waist, luckily, and his grip only tightens, effectively pulling Mickey closer and keeping him upright.

It’s not enough to keep Mickey’s own arms from flying up to loop around Ian’s neck to steady himself, though. But once Mickey’s regained his balance, Ian feels a rush of satisfaction when Mickey keeps them there, and even lets one hand drift up into Ian’s hair, cradling the back of his head as he kisses him deeper.

Undeterred by the near trip up, Mickey sidesteps the boot and Ian kicks it aside. They don’t make it very far before Mickey’s bumping into the wall, letting out a gruff noise as his shoulder connects with an unused coat hook. To correct for it, he ends up crowding forward into Ian’s space, forcing him back into the door. 

Ian hits the door with a dull thud, but then Mickey plasters himself up against Ian’s front and cradles his jaw between his hands as he kisses him within an inch of his life— at least that’s what it feels like to Ian. And, god, does he  _ love _ that. The way Mickey kisses him. It may have taken a while for Mickey to warm up to even the idea of kissing Ian, but once he had and once he’d taken that leap, he’d been all in. Every kiss with Mickey simultaneously feels like the very first one and the last one they may ever share.

They kiss against the front door for a little while, lazy and content. But Ian gets impatient, and he surges forward again, desperate to move this to somewhere they can get horizontal— though it isn’t as though he’s opposed to fucking Mickey against the door if it really comes down to it. 

But when he moves to shove Mickey through the second door leading to the family room, Mickey’s back connects roughly with the  _ closed _ door, and the knob jams into his lower back,  _ hard _ .

Mickey yelps into Ian’s mouth, interrupting the kiss, and clenches his jaw against the onslaught of pain, momentarily forgetting his mouth’s current activities, which means he ends up biting down onto Ian’s lip rather painfully.

Ian hisses as the pain starts to bloom, and he jumps back, hand immediately flying up to his mouth.

Across from him Mickey spins around to glare at the doorknob and twists his arm behind him to rub at his back.

Ian makes a noise as he gingerly touches his lip. Even in the dark he can see his finger comes away stained with a little bit of blood as he pulls it back.

His noise draws Mickey’s attention again, and he turns back to Ian, disgruntled annoyance melting from his face to make way for concern. The skin between his eyebrows bunches up again as he steps into Ian’s space and goes to address the wound. “Shit,” Mickey hisses, reaching for Ian’s face. “Fuckin’ doorknob. Are you okay?”

Ian swats at his hand, the tiniest flare of irritation lighting up his nerves. He’s  _ fine _ . His lip stings, but just like it had been earlier at the dugouts, Ian’s  _ feeling something _ , and even if that something is pain, Ian still wants it. Relishes it, even. Instead of giving Mickey a proper answer, he knocks Mickey’s hand from his face again and tugs him back into a kiss, chasing those feelings.

Mickey doesn’t complain or protest, just curls his arms around Ian’s waist and settles his palms low on his back, just above his ass.

Ian keeps one hand fisted into the front of Mickey’s shirt, but slips the other around him, blindly feeling for the doorknob so he can open it and they can make it through this time.

They spill into the family room, Ian sucking Mickey’s bottom lip into his mouth as he pushes Mickey further into the room. He nips at Mickey’s lip a few times, drawing out a soft noise from the back of Mickey’s throat that goes straight to his dick and spurs Ian on even more.

Mickey tries to take control by sliding his fingers into the belt loops of Ian’s jeans as he shuffles backwards, pulling them towards the stairs. He’s clearly just as desperate as Ian is to get on with it, but unlike Ian he seems more inclined to find a  _ bed _ rather than settle for the closest piece of furniture. They lurch towards the foot of the stairs, and Mickey spins them so that if they were to start climbing, Ian would have to do it backwards— the bastard. 

Ian’s shoulder clips the bannister, and he grunts into Mickey’s mouth. It doesn’t hurt much, but the dull ache of the impact is enough to clear his mind for the briefest of moments.

“Not upstairs,” he pants into Mickey’s mouth, and he has more to say, has an explanation to give, but Mickey hasn’t stopped kissing him, and Ian gets lost in it until Mickey mumbles an urgent  _ c’mon _ against his lips and tries to back Ian up again.

Ian presses a hand flat against Mickey’s chest, and Mickey breaks the kiss momentarily to give Ian a confused, impatient look.

“We can’t go in my room,” Ian tells him, and Mickey just blinks at him with blown pupils and shiny lips, and Ian almost forgets  _ why _ they can’t go up to his room and drags him there anyways. But then he remembers his brothers— the  _ children _ — he shares a room with, and he shakes his head. “Full house,” he reminds Mickey, tapping a finger against his chest, and the meaning dawns on Mickey, who groans and lets his forehead fall against Ian’s shoulder.

“We  _ ever _ goin’ to fuck on a bed?” Mickey asks gruffly, a hint of irritation lacing his words.

Ian laughs airily, and buries his face in Mickey’s hair before tipping his head back to meet Mickey’s eyes. And for a second, everything else fades away. Ian’s siblings upstairs, Mickey’s dad and his wife and his kid at home, the last few months, all the ups and downs they’ve been through, it all just disappears from his memory, and it’s just him and Mickey laughing and smiling and kissing away the time.

“Next time,” Ian promises, breaking the moment. He ducks down to steal a quick kiss, and Mickey’s lips chase his as he pulls away. It makes Ian grin. “Couch looks pretty good to me right now, though,” he adds, punctuating it by giving Mickey’s ass a squeeze through his jeans.

Mickey’s not expecting it, and he jumps a little in Ian’s arms, cursing at him under his breath, but there’s a tiny grin quirking at his lips, and he grabs Ian’s hand to tug him through the dark house towards the sofa a few feet away.

Ian clings to Mickey’s back, dropping Mickey’s hand so he can slide his arms around his waist and tease him by toying with the front of his jeans. He latches onto Mickey’s neck too, as best as he can from behind him, anyways.

Mickey seems to be enjoying it, huffing out little laughs that go breathy towards the end when Ian really gets into it. It’s distracting as hell, though, and Mickey’s legs fail him more often than not, bringing him to a stop several times before they make it to the couch so he can melt back into Ian’s body and revel in the touch of his hands and the press of his lips.

He sends an elbow into Ian’s ribs, light enough not to hurt but hard enough that he’ll get the message to quit it, at least for now, so they can get to the couch and he can get the fuck on him for real.

They finally round the corner of the couch, and Ian’s about to manhandle Mickey around so they’re facing each other and he can kiss him as they collapse into the cushions (and maybe so he can fuck Mickey face to face, too— Mickey’s in a good enough mood that Ian doesn’t think he’d stop them to turn himself around if Ian were to try to fuck him like this), but before he can, Mickey comes to an abrupt stop.

“ _ What the fuck is he doing here _ ?” Mickey hisses, the tiniest hint of a whine to his voice as he glares down at Frank’s sprawled out, unmoving form clearly passed out across the sofa.

“Fuckin’ Frank,” Ian groans and drops his forehead against Mickey’s back. Of fucking  _ course _ Frank would find a way to cockblock him without even meaning to. “He doesn’t even fucking live here,” he grumbles.

Mickey gives the bottom of the couch an experimental kick, but Frank doesn’t even stir. He huffs out and kicks the couch again, this time in frustration.

And it  _ is _ frustrating, but Ian is determined not to let this— not to let  _ Frank _ — ruin his evening. It had been such a good one— the best one in a while, really— and there’s no way he’s not going to end it by fucking his boyfriend good and hard, just the way they both deserve. 

“C’mon,” Ian says, grabbing Mickey’s hand again. He brings his face close to Mickey’s. “M’still gonna fuck you,” he promises, voice low enough to make Mickey forget all about the deadbeat alcoholic passed out on what would’ve been their ‘bed’ for the evening. “Kitchen table’s the next flat surface I can think of,” he whispers into Mickey’s ear, and he grins at the shudder he can feel go through Mickey’s body. Feeling a little daring, Ian darts his tongue out to lick the shell of Mickey’s ear, then bites down on his lobe. It’s a bold move, one that has just as high a chance of earning him a punch as it does not. But he doesn’t give Mickey the chance to make that decision. Ian spins him around in his arms and crushes his mouth to Mickey’s, and by then Mickey’s far too occupied to protest.

They knock into the coffee table as they distractedly try to shimmy out of the tight space between the table and the couch, and a few of Debbie’s or maybe Fiona’s magazines slip off the surface and flop to the ground, the pages fanning out and bending back. Neither Ian nor Mickey can be assed to care.

Mickey bumps into the end of the couch, and he nearly steps on one of Liam’s toys lying in their path, but thankfully his foot lands a few inches away from it, and they make it into the kitchen unscathed.

Once in the kitchen, Ian walks Mickey back until he runs into the counter. He presses him against the ledge and crowds into his space, licking at the seam of Mickey’s mouth until he parts his lips for Ian.

Mickey’s hands grip at his waist, then push under his shirt and settle against his bare skin.

Desperate to get those hands all over him, Ian breaks the kiss long enough to rear back so he can yank his shirt over his head. He lets it fall to a heap somewhere on the floor behind him, then reattaches himself to Mickey’s mouth, licking into it with a renewed fervor.

As soon as he’s back in Mickey’s space, Mickey’s hands find his waist again. This time instead of just settling there, his hands glide up Ian’s back, smoothing over the muscles Ian knows Mickey loves to grab onto when he fucks him good— the few times they have fucked face to face he hadn’t been able to let go. His hands are warm against Ian’s skin and they leave a trail of electricity in their wake.

And suddenly Ian’s itching to get his own hands all over Mickey’s bare skin. He tugs at the bottom of Mickey’s shirt, pulling it from where it’s tucked into the waistband of his jeans all properlike for their date. Ian can’t help but smile a little dopily at the effort Mickey put into it, like he knew how much it would mean to Ian if he did. (And to himself, too, he’s not fooling anyone.)

Mickey gets the hint pretty quick, nipping at Ian’s bottom lip before abandoning his mouth to focus on getting rid of his shirt. “The fuck you smilin’ about?” He asks, but Ian can hear Mickey’s own smile in his voice and he just laughs a little.

“Get your fucking shirt off,” Ian replies, clawing at the offending fabric still covering Mickey’s upper half.

“Bossy fuck,” Mickey mutters, but it's clear he's wants it gone just as bad when he stops messing with the buttons and starts to pull his shirt up his body as quickly as he can instead.

His arm gets caught in the sleeve in his haste, and rather than take his time to untangle himself, Mickey huffs and tries to shake his arm free. It doesn’t help that Ian’s still pulling at the material, probably hindering him much more than he is actually helping any, but he’s too damn eager to get Mickey naked to act rationally.

“Fucking god damn fancy ass shirt,” Mickey grumbles, followed by a string of curses that makes Ian snort in amusement.

But his amusement doesn't last too long. In the next second, Mickey finally manages to get his arm free, but the release is so sharp that his arm flails back and his elbow goes slamming into the empty metal pot that was sitting on the stove beside them.

The pot knocks onto its side with a clatter, sending the lid skidding across the stove to crash into the coffee maker, then rolls none too quietly right over the edge of the counter where it falls to the floor with a loud, echoing crash.

Mickey grabs for Ian instinctively, clutching at his arms tight enough that his nails are bound to leave little half moon indents in his skin.

" _ Oh fuck _ !"

“ _ Shit _ !” Ian hisses out, eyes going wide as he watches the scene in horror.

The pot keeps rolling across the floor until it hits the side of the laundry machine and finally comes to a stop. The room goes quiet.

They stand there, frozen in the kitchen, the throbbing in their pants momentarily forgotten as they both strain their ears for any sign that the noise woke anyone up.

After a few seconds and nothing, not even a peep from Frank (which for the briefest of moments makes Ian wonder if he's  _ dead _ rather than just passed out on the couch), the tension in their shoulder relaxes.

Ian tears his eyes from where he was squinting towards the stairs to look at Mickey, and when their eyes meet, they both burst into quiet, relieved laughter. Ian quickly muffles himself in Mickey's neck, and Mickey presses his face into Ian's hair in response.

"Fuck, I thought  _ for sure _ that would wake someone up," Ian says, giggling like a child that’s had too much sugar. He can’t help it though, it makes him fucking  _ giddy _ that no one seemed to have heard them. They’re being fucking  _ loud _ .

“Those shitheads can sleep through anything, fuck,” Mickey says, almost in awe. “Must be fuckin’ nice.”

It’s a loaded statement, but now is really not the time to unpack all that, so rather than let himself get too caught up in it, Ian presses his lips to Mickey’s neck where he’s still hiding his face. He leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down to Mickey’s collarbone, nipping gently at the skin before laving over it with his tongue. “Guess they  _ can _ sleep through anything,” he agrees. “Means I can make you scream my name when I fuck you right here in the kitchen,” Ian says, low and dirty.

“Fuck you, I ain’t a screamer,” Mickey snaps, but Ian can see the way his words are affecting him. He can feel it too, where Mickey’s pressing up against his thigh.

“Bet I can make you one,” Ian taunts, biting down on his lip. He lifts his head from Mickey’s neck, a wicked smirk unfurling across his face.“I bet—”

He’s cut off by Mickey growling low in his throat and crushing his lips back to Ian’s in a searing kiss that has Ian gasping into it before matching his enthusiasm.

And Mickey doesn’t waste a second either. They’ve barely even started back up before Mickey’s hands are at Ian’s pants, popping open the button and tearing the zipper down. He shoves Ian’s jeans down just enough that he can slide his hand into his boxers and wrap strong fingers around his dick.

Ian whimpers into Mickey’s mouth and pushes his hips instinctively back against Mickey’s hand. Then he scrambles to get his own hand down the back of Mickey’s jeans, too, and he cups a good handful of it, pulling a short little moan from Mickey that he immediately tries to stifle. It makes Ian pretty damn smug.

He’s about to see if he can pull any more unexpected sounds from Mickey by trailing a finger teasingly over his crack when light suddenly floods the kitchen.

“ _ Fucking shit! What the fuck! _ ”

Mickey’s hand is gone from his pants in an instant, and Ian stumbles back as Mickey shoves him away, panting hard and eyes wild with panic.

Ian’s heart rabbits in his chest and he yanks his jeans back up as he whirls around.

“I’ve got a fuckin bat!” Fiona shouts, and she sure fucking does.

She stands just beneath the doorframe, her foot inches away from that stupid fucking pot that, apparently,  _ did _ wake someone up. Her hair is sticking up from the pillow, and her eyes are wide, but she doesn’t look fully alert quite yet, traces of sleep still around the edges. The Gallagher’s trusty thug bashing baseball bat is hoisted over her shoulder, like she’s ready to swing.

“It’s just us!” Ian screeches, stepping in front of Mickey and holding his hands out to placate his sister.

“ _ Christ, Ian _ ,” Fiona breathes, letting the bat fall to her side. She places her other hand over her chest and blows out a long breath. “Fuck you doin’ coming in so late like that?” She asks, and it’s then that she notices Mickey where he’s still standing behind Ian. He’s steadfastly avoiding meeting her eyes, and Ian knows it’s mostly from embarrassment over getting caught about to fuck and not because he got caught about to fuck  _ Ian _ .

Fiona’s eyes flit between the pair of them, and Ian knows they must be a sight to see. He’s sure his hair is all over the place from when Mickey had his hands buried in it, and his jeans are still undone and hastily dragged back up so they cover enough of what needs to be covered. Neither one of them has a shirt on, and they’re both breathing like they’d just run a fucking marathon. Ian spares a quick glance back at Mickey, and even though he looks slightly more put together than Ian, it still isn’t hard to tell what he’s just been doing. Not with the way his lips are redder than usual and still shining from being in Ian’s mouth just seconds ago.

“We had a date,” Ian tells Fiona proudly, and he drops his shoulder back to knock into Mickey’s. He looks back at him, and smiles when he sees that Mickey has finally lifted his eyes from the floor.

Mickey manages to smile back, just the tiniest lift of the corners of his lips, but Ian catches it and it makes him feel warm all over. Then Mickey meets Fiona’s eyes and gives a short nod, confirming Ian’s answer, and  _ that _ makes Ian’s fucking heart  _ sing _ . A few months ago Mickey  _ never _ would have admitted to being on a date— hell, he couldn’t even admit that they were  _ boyfriends _ , which they so obviously were. He probably never would have even agreed to going out on a date either, but that’s besides the point. He’s come a long fucking way, and Ian couldn’t be more proud.

Fiona softens and a happy, albeit tired smile graces her face. “A date, huh?” She repeats, sticking her hand on her hip. She lifts the baseball bat and uses it to gesture around the kitchen. “You continuin’ that date here or somethin’?” And the knowing look she gives the two of them is enough to have them  _ both _ blushing.

“Fuck  _ off _ ,” Mickey mutters gruffly, dropping his eyes back to the floor.

Ian gives her a bashful look and the tiniest shrug of his shoulders. “Uh, no?” He tries, but it’s not convincing at all, not that it even needs to be at this point. They've already been caught with their hands down their pants— literally.

Fiona laughs and then sighs. “Just remember we gotta eat breakfast in this kitchen in the morning,” she warns, pointing the baseball bat at them again. “Leave it cleaner than you found it,” she calls, already halfway out of the room on her way back to the stairs. She’s barely gone before they hear a quiet, “how the fuck did  _ he _ get in here?” which means Fiona must have found Frank. But then the soft thuds of feet on the stairs can be heard, and Fiona really is gone.

It takes a few seconds before Ian or Mickey move, both still shook up from the interruption.

Mickey breaks first, blowing a breath out through his teeth and rubbing his hands down his face. “Jesus christ,” he mumbles.

Ian thinks that might have killed the mood with Mickey, and he prepares himself to accept that his sister just totally cockblocked him even if it was unintentional.

But then Mickey starts to laugh, and his hands fall back to his side. He gives Ian a bewildered look, like he kind of can’t believe that just happened— that Fiona _said_ _what she said_ — and Ian just shrugs. He knows she’s been in the exact same position before, so she’s not really in the place to judge or get on Ian’s case about it. 

“It kinda sounds like she just fuckin’ gave us her blessing or something to fuck in the kitchen,” Mickey says, shaking his head. “What the fuck.”

“That’s ‘cause she kind of fucking did,” Ian points out, inching back into Mickey’s space. He meets Mickey’s eyes and tilts his head to the side. “You still up for it?” He asks, a grin tugging at his lips.

“You’re still revving to go even after  _ your sister _ just walked in on us?” Mickey asks, astounded.

Ian waggles his eyebrows and shrugs. “Always revving to go when I’m around you,” he answers, and Mickey snorts and shoves Ian a little.

“Cheesy fucker,” he says, but it comes out fond, and he’s cracking a smile. “Well, fuck, alright then,” Mickey adds after a second, laughing a little. “What the fuck you doing over there? Get the fuck on me, man.”

And, fuck, Ian doesn’t need to be told twice.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think with a kudos and a comment! 
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/brooklynbabybucky) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/BrklynBabyBucky)! :)


End file.
